Chapter Ten: The Elder Brother
When the morning light once again brushed against his face, Rose was forced to wake up—
even though half his body still throbbed painfully and the other half felt… well, completely numb. And he hated that. Still, he managed to drag himself out of bed.
Of course, he knew his father would probably beat him half to death if he kept destroying his body without rest, so he decided to take at least one day off. That was why he spent the rest of the morning turning the jar of lard Gunther had given him into the conditioner he desperately needed to restore the shine and health of his hair.
He didn't have an exact recipe, but he remembered how his grandmother, Lady Persephone, used a mixture of fats and oils to create something effective enough that even a god like Hades approved of it. It took longer than he expected, but he finally achieved something usable.
His next step was to take his morning bath—slightly earlier than usual. When he finished, he dipped two fingers into the wax-like substance… he was pretty sure it shouldn't feel like that, but he wasn't a stylist. Whatever. The point was that he worked it thoroughly into his hair. After making sure every strand was coated, he let the conditioner do its "job," then washed it out and checked the results in the mirror.
It still didn't have the gleam he once had in his old world, but it definitely looked much better.
Sure, he still wasn't in his best physical condition and it would take a long time to return to the state he once boasted about, but at least he was no longer the scrawny little runt he had been on his first day in this world.
He didn't dwell on that thought for long. He finished preparing himself—which took quite a while, considering he still hated the doublet and stockings with a burning passion. Gods, he was starting to feel a desperate need to find a real tailor and have him recreate his favorite outfit.
But for now, there was no time for that. Once dressed, he left the bathroom and made his way directly to the dining hall. It was still early compared to his recent routine, so he was genuinely surprised to find everyone already seated, chatting casually as they waited for him.
When he entered, his entire family looked at him with a flicker of astonishment. They had not expected him to look quite so… refined. Even Lambert stared at him with a hint of envy.
This—precisely—was why he always cared about his appearance. Humanity was unbearably superficial, and a polished image went a long way in earning respect. It wasn't for nothing that his father—towering, nearly two meters tall, muscles carved like marble—had a presence that made entire armies kneel. Or that Zeref, with his heavy, suffocating aura, could wilt life around him just by standing still. He could list more; there was a reason the Ten Heavenly Kings were not only powerful, but devastatingly beautiful.
Even so, seeing the conflicting expressions on his family's faces made Rose adopt a mildly confused look, if only to keep things from getting even more awkward. For heaven's sake—his sister had blushed when she saw him. After what was easily one of the most painfully awkward moments of both his lives, his family finally snapped out of their daze.
"Father, aren't you going to bless the table?" Rose asked calmly.
Of course, being someone who knew the true nature of the Father of all Gods, he knew such blessings were unnecessary. But he had to pretend to be a devout Catholic; he knew all too well what would happen if he tried explaining the truth. It would take decades, but he was sure he could eventually convince people that God did not desire eternal worship.
His comment alone was enough to pull his family back into reality, and Sieghard began reciting the blessing as everyone else bowed their heads. Rose silently apologized to God and the angels for using such tactics just to ground his family again.
Once the blessing ended, they began to eat. While cutting into his pork sausages, Rose simply listened to his family's conversations.
"Father, did you know that yesterday Rose spent the entire day plowing the fields like a common peasant?" And of course, Lambert had to snitch.
Sieghard, however, simply looked at Rose with an expression more confused than upset. Hard work wasn't a vice— but he certainly didn't expect his son to be the one doing it.
"You plowed a field?" he asked.
Rose, of course, had no intention of lying—nor of belittling his new friend or the work he had done the day before just to save face. So he felt no shame in admitting it.
"Yes, Father. That's actually why I took the day off from my morning exercises. Overworking my body would only make me sick again."
His answer only deepened Sieghard's confusion. He had no idea why his son would prefer plowing a field over continuing his exercise routine.
"Any particular reason?" he asked, hoping for more details.
Lambert, naturally, snickered under his breath— utterly convinced he had just caused his brother to lose their father's favor. But Rose noticed it, and in that instant he knew he would have to put the boy in his place… the same way he had done with Sukuna and Kenjaku a thousand times before.
"Well, Father," Rose began, "while Ludwig finishes the designs for the steel industry, I needed something to keep myself occupied. I ended up studying agriculture a bit and developed a new crop rotation system. But as you know, I'm no farmer, so I sought a professional's opinion on my theory. As it turns out, the man I consulted knew his craft very well, and after discussing its viability, we decided to test it. And I'm a man who leads by example—so I simply picked up a hoe and worked the fields myself."
It was a long, tangled explanation… but entirely true.
Lambert couldn't help but scoff. To him, it was impossible that his brother—someone he still considered a functional idiot—could develop agricultural reform on his own. Obviously—in Lambert's mind—this was all some kind of facade to take advantage of the situation.
As if hard labor were beneath a "proper nobleman."
And so, Lambert immediately began to interrogate him, determined to catch him in a lie and prove that Rose was a fraud.
My dear brother, you're still far too naïve to play these games with me, Lambert thought maliciously— completely unaware that this was no longer the same idiot brother he had manipulated a thousand times before.
"You say you've invented an innovation in crop rotation… what kind of innovation would that be?" he asked, using that disgustingly sweet tone he reserved for pretending innocence.
Rose looked at him with absolute indifference— an indifference so cold and complete that the teenager shivered under those steel-gray eyes.
Only then did Rose speak:
"You're a soldier, little brother. Even if I explained it to you with pictures, you wouldn't understand."
With that single sentence, Rose had insulted everything Lambert valued:
Calling him a soldier reduced his swordsmanship to brute force. Saying he wouldn't understand questioned his intellect. And calling him little brother made it painfully clear who the real elder sibling was.
Lambert, of course, exploded internally. He hadn't expected his older brother to beat him at his own game— much less with such a simple response that left him utterly speechless, mocking his proudest virtues.
It was true that Lambert knew nothing about agriculture or engineering. He had merely heard the phrase "crop rotation" and understood nothing else. In his mind, it wasn't a field in which a noble should ever be involved.
But Rose gave him no time to object. He simply continued his conversation with his father, maintaining the calm, steady tone he had held all along.
"Father, if you wish to know the details, I'll gladly explain them. But I don't believe work is an appropriate topic for the table, and I'm certain we would only bore the children and Mother with something as tedious as crop rotation," Rose explained calmly— respectful toward his mother and sister, and utterly dismissive toward his brother at the same time.
Once again, Lambert was thousands of years away from ever reaching Rose's level of passive-aggressive finesse.
Rose was simply better at the political game. That single, seemingly harmless comment made Lambert's attempt to discredit him completely useless. Worse still, it placed Lambert in the same category as little Henrietta—reducing him to nothing more than a child… despite being only a few months away from turning sixteen, the age at which he would be considered a man in the eyes of God and men alike.
And unfortunately for Lambert, even though he wanted to protest, he couldn't muster a single coherent complaint. His father fully agreed with his eldest son's words—even if he still wasn't entirely convinced that physical labor had been necessary to present the project.
End of Chapter.